


Mutually Exclusive

by fionnabhair



Category: Veep
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7583989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fionnabhair/pseuds/fionnabhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can’t fall in love with Dan Egan and then be surprised when he acts…well, like himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

If politics is the art of the possible, then the job of a political staffer is defining the _impossible_ – clearly, in short, simple words that even a politician can’t misunderstand.  You can’t get the endorsement of the Black Caucus if you support racial profiling, and if the words ‘partial birth abortion’ have ever passed your lips, you can kiss any feminist credentials goodbye. 

These things are just true, as immutable as the laws of gravity or thermodynamics.  And politicians hate hearing it, hate the idea that after having been elected by the people, having been invested with all the power and dignity of public office…their power is still circumscribed, still hemmed in and impotent. 

Amy is good at describing the impossible, good at using terms and words for it that can’t be ignored, but also don’t offend – a necessity when dealing with the hypersensitive egos of politicians.  She may loathe the necessity of it, may want to slap them up the head sometimes and ask why they can’t have an ounce of sense, but she is good at it.  Not just good at it – Amy is one of the best in the business, and proud of the fact – that’s what got her to the White House after all.

Which is why she can’t help but find it…grimly amusing that she is all but completely unable to accept the mutually exclusive facts of her personal life.

You can’t fall in love with Dan Egan and then be surprised when he acts…well, like himself.

She’s not entirely sure when it happened, which is the worst part.

When he’d come to work for Selina she had sincerely disliked him.  Not just because he’d brutally (brutally is too gentle a word really – viciously, maliciously, spitefully) dumped her…mere days after she’d given in and let herself _actually_ like him. 

It’s humiliating.  It doesn’t matter that he didn’t know, that she’d never said or done anything to let him know that she genuinely cared, that she all but had hearts in her eyes when she saw him.  In practice, all this had meant was that she approached him with a slightly less punishing brand of sarcasm, so perhaps it wasn’t surprising that Dan hadn’t realised how she felt (not that it would have made the slightest bit of difference), but her mother certainly had.  Her mother, indeed, had all but fallen off her chair at the realisation – so used to Amy taking everything calmly and in her stride that any strong emotion surprised her. 

No one else knew of course, but the embarrassment of having fallen – really and truly fallen – for his manipulations had lingered.  She was a sharp, supposedly savvy political operator, and yet… perhaps it added a touch of venom to her tone with him. 

But there were other reasons behind her dislike – reasons, Amy had eventually realised, that had more to do with the twisted system in which they operated than with anything particular to Dan as a person.

She hated that he could sleep his way to the top.  Not that she was jealous, as he oh so loved to insist.  (If he’d ever shown even the least bit of affection for the women he exploited, _then_ she might have been jealous, but as it was…she felt only a distant kind of pity.  No one deserved to feel that stupid). 

Dan had told her not to judge it till she’d tried it, waggling his eyebrows at her in what might have been a reflex, or might have been an actual come-on, she didn’t know.  (He’d been Campaign Manager at the time, high on his own cockiness, so it was just about possible he’d actually meant it).

She’d considered it perhaps the supreme example of Dan just… Not Getting It.  (Up until he’d slept with Sophie, at which point she’d had to redefine the term).  Amy _couldn’t_ sleep her way to the top.  People indulged Dan – considered his on-his-back scheming for power just a quirk – assumed he was sufficiently brilliant to make it to the top _anyway_ – and the worst part was, he didn’t even realise it was happening.  No one would ever indulge Amy that way, if she tried it – she knew that, even if Dan didn’t.  (Wouldn’t).

And even if they would… Amy’s options would be limited to such exemplars of male beauty as Bill Ericson, Vice-President Doyle or Congressman Furlong.  Whereas Dan could cut a swathe through DC’s women, each more lovely, accomplished and politically connected than the next.  It was unfair on every possible level.  (And she can’t ever explain any of this to him, as he’d only take it as a compliment to his looks or proof of her jealousy, and hold it over her head till the end of time.  And truthfully, it was neither.)

None of this is Dan’s _fault_ exactly, and Amy had learned to let go of the anger she felt over it.  Not for his sake – for hers – that kind of simmering rage takes energy to maintain, and there are much worthier targets for her wrath.  (Like Jonah).  But even if she wasn’t angry, she still resented the hell out of it.  Sometimes it seemed that he would always, always get what she wanted, without having to do any of the work for it.  (She’d tried to console herself with the thought that even so, he was still _Dan_ , and that had to be punishment enough, but it felt thin).

The degree to which she’d missed him after London should have alerted her, really.  But Amy’s a busy woman, and never one to just…give into whatever stupid feelings she’s feeling on a particular day. (It could just be gas.  Or too much cheese).  And Dan had come back with his sadbeard (she had liked the beard entirely too much), made a crack about Jackson being an inferior version of him, and she’d been able to ignore the contented buzzing in her skin whenever he came within ten feet of her. 

It was just that Dan was actually competent – unlike three quarters of the people she usually dealt with – and that when he was around Jonah only hit on her half as much.  (Amy did _not_ want to know why, though she could guess.  Some kind of twisted respect for Dan’s ‘territory’ which made her nauseous even to consider).  And being in love wasn’t...like that.  Amy watched movies from time to time – it was supposed to be dramatic and beautiful and make you a better person.  It wasn’t a happiness rippling under the surface of your day, inflecting every moment of it, but barely noticeable by itself.

Oh she’d known she was attracted to him.  Her reaction to that goddamn beard – if nothing else – had enlightened her on that score.  It was almost infuriating how little impact his frequently appalling actions had on her attraction to him. 

But it was when he’d slept with Sophie that she’d _known_.  Known from the sick feeling in her stomach, the way she suddenly hadn’t known what to do with her hands, her fingers shaking even as she tried to clench them into fists. 

She _hadn’t_ cried, not even once.  She hadn’t.  Her voice might – might – have cracked once when she found out – but she wasn’t going to give him the goddamn satisfaction. 

(She’d wanted to).

He’d taunted her with it – knowing he’d hurt her, and using it as a weapon against her (she’d always known Dan would) – but he didn’t really understand just what he’d done. 

(She doesn’t understand why _this_ is the thing he chooses to taunt her with.  He’d joked about Jackson – once – winked at her, and let it slide, which was so out of character that she almost couldn’t believe it.  She’d prepared herself for weeks of taunting, but other than a certain – less sharklike than usual – smile at her whenever Jackson was mentioned, he’d said nothing.  But with Sophie it was like he’d wanted to dig the knife in even further, like he was almost enjoying it.  She is endlessly grateful that he hadn’t found out about her text messages). 

What Sophie had used him to do to her.  And she couldn’t ever explain.

(She and Sophie, perhaps from being too close in age, had never, ever gotten along.  And for most of their lives, Sophie had been considered the success of the family – pretty, popular, charming – Homecoming Queen and Chair of the Yearbook Committee.  And then, pregnant at nineteen, and just dumb enough to think dropping out of college was the way to handle it.  None of it, none of it, was Amy’s fault, but what did that matter – she’d dared to graduate college and work for a President while Sophie was flailing, and that was unforgivable.  And Sophie, who may not have had a chess player’s brain, but did have an eye for weakness that was near predatory, had slept with Dan not because she liked him (she didn’t) but because Amy loved him.  Sophie had known how Amy felt about Dan before Amy had.  She'd known that Amy would never be able to look at him without thinking of it, and tainting Dan – even more than he’d tainted himself – was revenge enough for her.  It would have been brilliant if it hadn’t been so petty – as though being boasted about by their mother was a crime Amy had committed.)

She couldn’t ever tell Dan this. 

(She even more couldn’t tell him that her high school boyfriend had only asked her out on the off-chance he might see her sister – and that her college boyfriend had kissed Sophie the one time she visited her at Penn – and that he was just the latest in a series of wounds Sophie had tried to inflict).

Dan doesn’t know any of the back story, but still, she can’t ever forgive him.  (He’d actually dared to ask her out the day after, as though nothing had changed, which she almost couldn’t believe – except she could, because it’s not like he had any emotions above the level of lizard).

It doesn’t change how she feels, but that’s fine, Amy’s used to repressing all of that, and frankly, even when she was at her most starry-eyed about Dan, he only occupied thirty per cent of her attention.  (Which is like five per cent more than any other man she’s ever felt _things_ for, but whatever, who cares).

All of which just makes it all the more hilarious when, following Selina’s spectacular failure to gain the presidency, he approaches her with a proposal.

A political consultancy.  Their own political consultancy, to be specific.

It’s really kind of brilliant.  Neither of them can go back to lobbying – Amy would rather tear her hair out, Dan has, predictably, burned his bridges, and neither of them have connections with the Montez administration anyway. 

They make a good team – she balances out Dan’s inability to think strategically (she could have told him that leaving burn victims all over Washington was a bad idea – she did tell him – but it’s only in the last year he’s considered listening), and the combination of his complete lack of scruples and his tactical skills (Dan is capable of higher levels of conversational jujitsu than anyone ever seems to realise) means he’ll do the jobs even _she_ finds too distasteful. 

Besides, after years of being at Selina’s beck and call, Amy wants the joy of getting to _choose_ her clients, of being in demand for her political nous, rather than alternatively abused and ignored for it.

Admittedly, she wouldn’t ever have thought of it – it was Dan’s entire idea, credit where it’s due – but it’s such an obvious next step that she has to agree to it.  (So what if it keeps him in her life.  That’s not why).  (It might be why).  He calls her one Saturday afternoon, asks her to meet him at an office (their office) (that he’d already rented), and she knows it’s the best professional move.

(She is also laughing internally because Dan – somehow – doesn't grasp that this will tie her to him in everyone else’s eyes far more permanently than if she was just his girlfriend.  Sexual relationships are disposable for him, but a political partner…that’s a real commitment).

The one part that she kind of dreads is telling her parents – who will hate it and not understand it and possibly hit Dan with some kind of club (well, that one was just her Dad). 

So she times the conversation strategically.  They have a ‘family lunch’ on Sundays (she misses the White House so much, it always gave her the perfect excuse to miss these things), but this one she’s going to have to duck out of anyway (she and Dan are flying out to Illinois to meet Senator Daley – who may, or may not, have ambitions for the next election, and either way, wants the best). 

Her father is predictably furious, her mother all in favour of the idea (she loves the idea that Amy is going to be so _important_ one day), and Amy thinks she’s just about made it when she gets a text from Dan.  He’s outside and she has to go.

She kisses her father’s cheek, and leaves, dragging her suitcase in one hand and checking her phone with the other.  She has just made it to Dan’s car (he’s leaning against it, sunglasses on, looking unfairly handsome and also in need of a solid punch to the jaw – which is how he usually looks, to be fair), when she hears the door behind her bang closed.

“You had to do it, didn’t you?” Sophie snarls at her.  “You couldn’t just let me have one thing.”

Dan is staring at the ground (Amy’s almost pleased to see that he finally has the sense to recognise the minefield that is her relationship with her sister).   Amy sets her suitcase upright, turns and squares her shoulders.  She is not the mood, she does not feel like it, she doesn’t have the time, but if Sophie wants a fight, then goddamn it, Amy will give it to her.  “Do what?”

“You had to just stomp all over it, couldn’t let me have one day where I was –“

“Where you were what?” Amy says (growls really), “Sighing over your new boyfriend, like you don’t do that every week?”

“He’s not new,” Sophie says, and actually stamps her foot, seriously, that is a thing that just happened.  “He’s different, and they like him and you can’t even try to be happy for me, can you?”

“I’ll be happy for you when it lasts more than two weeks.  Until then, use a condom,” Amy says.  (She is a terrible person for saying this.  She really doesn’t fucking care).

“Jesus,” Sophie says, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, remember?  Just because you’re, like, in love with this douchebag doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer.  Don’t you ever forget anything?”

“It wasn’t goddamn Vegas, read a map for once in your life Sophie!  And no, I don’t forget.” She’s losing her composure in fury now, because Sophie does this every time, every single time the spotlight’s not on her for a minute.  “I don’t forget any of it.  Not Phil, or Ben, or… when I’m on my fourth husband will you be trying to sleep with him?”

“Maybe,” Sophie says curling her lip in a way that almost makes her ugly, “if you actually managed to fall for someone with a soul that wouldn’t happen.  But I guess you’d need to have one first.  Or, at least, be, you know, interesting, or something.  But that might be the one thing that's too much work for you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy catches Dan’s flinch at that comment, which is just…bizarre.  “Go back inside,” she says, “Tell them all about your new boy, I really don’t care.”

“He’s coming for lunch next week,” Sophie says, actually looking almost happy for a moment.  “You’ll meet him, you'll see – he’s amazing.  I wish you had someone like that in your life.  But someone like that wouldn't want you."

“Just go.” 

And mercifully, she does.  And Amy’s left standing there, feeling like the worst kind of wreckage.  She can’t even in look at Dan.  She’ll deny it to the end of time, of course, but she feels like Sophie just carved her heart out for him to see.

She grabs her case, puts it in the trunk, banging it down with a lot more force than is necessary (she wants to scream.  She wants to scream really fucking loudly) and gets into the passenger seat, all before Dan moves an inch.

He gets in eventually, staring at her warily (she’s not going to cry.  She won’t give him the goddamn satisfaction). 

“That was –“

“We have a plane to catch.”

“Don’t you want to…talk about it?”, he says, almost gentle, but with an eagerness underneath that means he’s scented blood.

“With you?  Not in a million years.”

There’s a moment where he keeps staring at her, and she keeps staring out the window, and she wants him to take her hand and tell her he’s sorry and he never realised how much he hurt her, but he’s going to make it up to her, she’ll see, she’s all that matters to him.

She wants it so much she can hardly breathe.  But you can’t fall in love with Dan Egan and then be surprised when he acts…well, like himself.  So he turns the key and drives them to the airport and Amy thinks about all the drinks she is going to need.

Chicago is going to be torture.


	2. Chapter Two

* * *

Chicago is even worse than she had expected, and Amy has a generous standard when it comes to worse.

All the way through the airport Dan hovers at her elbow in a way that is utterly insufferable.  He’s always touched her more than is normal – a hand on her back or her arm, standing an inch too close when he doesn’t have to, bumping his knee against hers under tables – but this hovering is new and almost suffocating.

She’s always hated how tall he is.  He’s a foot taller than her in flats, and enjoys ever last inch of it (one of the many reasons why Amy hardly ever wears flats).  He looms over her – enjoys looming over her – and she has been uncomfortably aware sometimes of just how easily he could throw her over one shoulder, cave-man style, and do… well never mind what he’d do.  (She doesn’t _want_ him to).  (If he ever actually did it she would swear at him in her finest style until he put her down and acted like a proper human, not a Neanderthal). (But he could.  So easily).

Her tolerance for frustration has been all but exhausted by Sophie, and lunch, and Sophie, so the third time he breathes on her neck, she gives in to her natural urges and glares.  “What?” she says, “Was high school not enough time as a mouthbreather, and now you feel the need to make up?”

“Oh, am I bothering you, Amy?  Why didn’t you say so before, I’d have done it more?” 

Thank God.  He’s going to be normal, and pretend the whole thing never happened, and Amy actually _feels_ her spine loosen with the relief.  It’s out of character, sure, because Dan has never, ever, to her knowledge, been reluctant about jamming a brutal thumb into a person’s weak spot, but she’s too grateful for the reprieve to question it.

He offers to get drinks, and she accepts, glad he’ll be kept occupied for at least five minutes and she can take a breath.  There’s half a dozen coiled springs lurking under her skin, and she’s afraid that if he even says the name Sophie she will flat out murder him (and half-relishing the thought).  As for Sophie, well…there is absolutely no point in being angry with Sophie, so Amy isn’t.  She might as well be angry with rain or trees, for all the good it would do her.

She rereads the biographical information she’d been able to find on Daley, and all but jumps out of her skin when Dan’s voice murmurs “I got you a whiskey,” right in her ear.

“If you keep doing that, I'll tie a bell around your neck, I swear to –“

He rolls his eyes, “Been a while has it?  Not that I don’t find your vanilla bondage fantasies entertaining, in their way.”  He shoves a glass at her, closing her fingers over it with his larger hand.  “Drink this now or I’ll make you drink a triple.  The crazy eyes are beginning to scare the children.”

She swallows, ignoring his smirk as she does.  Their flight is announced as delayed, and Dan sits, stretching out his long legs and patting the seat next to him.  Accepting that they’re going to be there for a while, she tries to make conversation, “So what do you think about Daley?”

“I think he has money, and I think he’s dumb enough to think he should be President.”

“And…?”

“And what else do you need?” He stares at her, and for the first time in she can’t remember how long she flushes. 

“We worked for the first female President, Dan, that’s not nothing.  I can’t find out that he’s ever actually done anything.”

“Which has always been such a barrier to high office.  I’m in this to win, Amy.  Have you got it into your head that there’s an actual Kennedy out there waiting to be discovered?  After how many years in Washington?”

“No,” she said, shifting in her seat.

“You are, Jesus Christ, you are so lucky you have me, do you know that?  If you were let run things by yourself, you’d be found wandering in a pasture, weeping because somewhere, somehow a politician was a fuck up.”

“There are many words that can be used to describe your presence in my life, and lucky has never been one of them.  And just because I would like to work for a candidate who’s occasionally capable of scratching their asshole _and_ their forehead simultaneously, doesn’t mean –“

“I don’t why you’re so embarrassed.  It’s adorable, really.”  He stares at her, and she gulps, because for all his mocking tone, he’s staring at her in a way that isn't.  (Not entirely)  (it's still mostly mocking, because it’s _Dan_ , but not entirely).  The moment stretches just enough to be uncomfortable, and then he adds, “Like a duckling right before someone hits its head with a hammer.”

She rolls her eyes, because of course, and takes another drink.  He keeps his eyes on her, and suddenly she gets the feeling that he’s playing with her – he’s not letting it go – he’s never let anything go in his life, why on earth would _this_ be the time?

As a result, when they finally get on the blasted plane and the flight attendant asks one of them to swap, she jumps on the opportunity like Sophie on a warm male body.  She is nowhere near stupid enough to get trapped in an enclosed space with him when he’s in one of his more mouse-hunting moods.  Particularly not when his hand had 'accidentally' brushed against her knee four times already.

He glares at her.  “You’re only delaying the inevitable you know.” 

“Good enough for me,” she says, and dives into her carefully collated background information on the Daley family history.

* * *

In years to come, Amy doesn’t doubt she will find the game of hide and seek she played with Dan in Chicago entertaining.  Somehow.  It will happen.  (She has told herself this about many of the more painful moments of her life).

Their flight gets stacked over O’Hare for an extra seventy minutes, and then, being in a particularly cussed mood, Amy insists on having a conversation with their taxi driver.  Dan hates normal people on general principle, so hearing all about his escape from the Iranian revolution and how he used to work on a building site and his daughter is studying applied organic chemistry, is basically a kind of torture.

Daley – being worryingly wealthy – has paid for an actual hotel suite.  Which sounded like a great idea back when they’d discussed it over the phone… but having to share space with Dan right now, when her figurative blood is in the water, is the last thing she wants.

So when Buddy Calhoun rings her – right as Dan is getting their room keys – she all but swoons.  She walks away from him, speaking in an exaggeratedly happy tone, and doing everything she can to make it clear that this is going to be a _long_ phone call, and Dan should just go on without her. 

Eventually, he hands her her keycard – looking utterly disgusted with her – and wanders off with their bags, leaving her finally able to concentrate on her conversation with Buddy.  He’s coming to Washington soon – next week – and they can meet up and have pleasant discussions and he’ll watch her drink wine… and if it was possible to hug him over the phone Amy would.  He’s the person equivalent of the longest, warmest bath she can imagine. 

She eventually hangs up, takes herself out for a deeply uninspiring sushi dinner, and then stays, pouring over her biography of Richard J Daley, until the waitress stands over her and coughs significantly.

Rightly or wrongly, she’s hopeful that Dan will have gone to sleep when she gets back to the suite.  (Or have picked up some sacrificial lamb on tinder – she doesn’t really care as long as she doesn’t have to deal with him).

She tries everything – takes her shoes off and walks on her toes even – and she’s almost reached the door of her room (it had better be her room, her suitcase is outside it) (though she wouldn’t put it past Dan to put her suitcase outside his room, so she’ll blunder in in the darkness and he can fuck with her some more), when he coughs.

“Worried about disturbing my beauty sleep?”

Amy sinks down on to her heels, thinking it was dumb to imagine she could escape him that easily, and sighs.  “No,” she says, “Why would I think that?  Vampires don’t need sleep.”

He gets up from his seat and walks toward her, and this was exactly the situation she’d been trying to avoid.  "Scared I’ll bite?”

“Yes, Dan,” she says, summoning her flattest tone.  “I’m afraid you’re going to drink my blood and ravage what’s left of my body.  That’s a thing a grown woman fears.” (The funniest part is that every word of that sentence is literally true, but it’s not like he knows that.)

“Sure seems like you are,” he says, and he is far too close now, crowding her up against her door in a way that is all too familiar.   “I’d almost think you were scared, but that can’t be true, because that would mean…”

She lays her hand across his lips, because no, she can’t, not right now.  He goes still immediately, though she gets the feeling – from his stance more than anything – that it wouldn’t take much for him to touch her.  She has no idea what to say.

“Please.” She swallows, feeling shaky, but not showing it (she doesn’t think).

For a half second he gets, impossibly, even closer to her, but then he pulls back, smirk firmly in place, and hands rammed into his pockets.  She doesn’t understand him.

“Well then sleep tight, beautiful.  You look like you need it.”

It’s the insult, more than anything, that steadies her.  He is still baffling to her, but whatever, that’s normal.  She hefts her shoes in her hand, “Night Dracula.”

It’s only when Amy gets inside her room and shuts the door that she lets out the shivery breath she’s been holding.  What the fuck?

* * *

Their meeting with Daley is…disappointing to say the least.  He has the beginnings of a campaign office, and a disgustingly beautiful house, and insists on dragging them to a number of _essential_ local hotspots that are like every other set of essential local hotspots in America.

They say they’ll revisit in Washington, think about the future, and after a painfully dull dinner with far less wine than she deserves, she and Dan make their way back to the hotel, arguing. 

Amy can tell already, Daley is an empty suit.  Even Selina wanted to make things better for working mothers, wanted to make peace in the Middle-East and kick-start a green jobs revolution.  She hadn’t wanted those things more than she’d wanted a good headline, but she’d wanted them.  Daley, as far as Amy can tell, just really likes being applauded.

Naturally Dan loves him. 

They argue while picking up the key, and argue in the lift (freaking the fuck out of the sweet mid-western lady stuck in there with them) and keep arguing as she struggles with the keycard and finally gets them into the room. 

She kicks off her shoes, too tired to want to keep the extra inches.  “He’s an idiot,” she says.  “I don’t care how much money he has, he’ll be a disaster.”

“So what?” Dan says, “he has a thick head of silver hair and people will imagine that means authority.  It’s not like Presidents actually _make_ policy anyway, you know that.”

“We’re better than that.”

That actually shuts him up.  (She has dreamed of this moment.  She has had fantasies of Dan being beautifully, blessedly silent, she’d never really cared why).

“You think I’m better than something?  That’s a first.”

“This is the point when your ego fails you, really?  I don’t want to be just another political shop on J Street – I want to be the best.  I want us to be the strategists the entire goddamn party listens to, and you don’t get that by picking candidates based on the size of their wallets.  I want to _win_ Dan.”

He raises his hands, perhaps half defeated, and smiles.  “I have the strangest boner right now.”

“Of course you do.  I’m going to bed.”

His face makes a question, which she ignores, thinking of the long, hot shower she’s going to have.  “Goodnight.” 

She walks away from him, ignoring the smile lingering in his eyes, and slams the door.

She has no idea why she thought that would work.   She’s only just undressed when he starts hammering on her door, and yes, she is definitely going to murder him.  Unless the hotel is actually going to burn down, and he is planning to rescue her (bare-chested preferably), she will never forgive him for taking her away from her shower.

By the time she’s wrapped a towel around herself and stumbled out of the bathroom, he’s come in and made himself at home.  He’s actually sitting on her bed, because…why?

“We’re talking about this,” he says, one of his more manic glints in his eye.

“About what?  Your inability to think more than five minutes ahead?”

“Sophie, Amy, that’s what we’re talking about.”

“I don’t think you remember that conversation, but she has a new boyfriend now, so I don’t think you’re getting back in there.  Ever.  I hope.  Your spawn would be truly –“

“That’s not – your sister thinks, your sister flat out _said_ that you’re in –“

She kisses him.  She is _not_ having this conversation with him, under any circumstances.  The fact that he’s sitting on the bed makes it easy – his head is for once within reach – and she doesn’t stop kissing him, not for a minute.  If she stops kissing him he’ll start talking again, and with him, right now, conversation is more dangerous.

He hasn’t shaved, and his stubble is making her face red, she can tell, and she straddles him – attempting at first to keep her towel up, before realising it’s a completely lost cause, and just going with it.

She can’t tell if Dan’s surprised – he certainly enters into the spirit of things pretty quickly – his hand is on the back of her neck in less than a second, and he angles the kiss, his tongue sliding over hers, and it is far, far too much, and she doesn’t understand how it took her so long to do this, it’s the best possible way to distract him.

He twists or something, because in half a second she’s on the bed underneath him, his hips pressing into hers, her hands clutching at the soft skin of his shoulders.  She’s completely naked underneath him, and she starts pulling at his shirt, pushing his pants down, and she can feel him, harder than she’d expect after half a minute (unless he really did get a boner from their previous discussion, which wouldn’t be the unlikeliest thing in the world). 

Dan shifts slightly over her, and kisses down the side of her neck, slowly, too slowly, she’s getting actual goosebumps… and then she lets out some stupid, involuntary moan sound, far too breathy to be tolerated.  His head snaps up, and suddenly he’s boxing her in with his arms, pressing her more firmly into the bed.

His voice is rough, rough in a way that shivers down her spine.  “I meant what I said, we have to _talk._ ”

“No,” she says extracting one wrist from his grasp and sliding it downwards.  “We really don’t.  There is nothing we need to talk about.”

She has him in hand as he tries to say, “No, I want to –“ and then she has him lined up at her entrance, and he grits out, “Amy that’s not what I –“

But he can’t resist, no more than she can, and he snaps his hips forward the moment he can, and then they’re moving together, fast and faster, and then slower as he regains some kind of control.  He’s trying to make it last, and it’s so unnecessary, and so good, and her fingers start to clench and unclench round his shoulders, and she never ever wants him to stop, not when she can feel him in every part of her body, not now…

Amy doesn’t know what she says when she comes (when they come).  She doesn’t want to know.  (She has a suspicion, but it’s horrifying to contemplate).

He lets his whole body weight fall on her, for just a moment, and he’s breathing like he’s run a race, she can feel it right by her ear, and it is way, way too much to even begin handling… so Amy gets up and has her shower.

She fucked Dan so he wouldn’t know she loved him.  It’s the worst thing she’s done in a long time (and Amy has a generous definition of worst). 

She doesn’t cry – she won’t give him the satisfaction – and if she does cry, it’s only in the shower, where he won’t hear her.  She washes her hair, and scrubs off the day’s sweat, and tries not to panic, because she has no idea what to do next, not a single one.

She’s bundled up in a dressing gown, hair wrapped in a towel, when she finally opens the door.  She feels jittery, deep down, like when she was younger and had fallen – or almost fallen – off her bike.

Dan hasn’t left.

She was _sure_ he’d have left.

He’s still lying on her bed (though his pants are back on, so he has some sense of decency at least), and smiling at her.  “If you’d told me you felt dirty, I’d have joined you in there.”

She tries not to think about what that would have been like – the two of them, wet, skin to skin in that tiny hotel shower – and sighs.  “What are you doing?”

“Like I said – “

“We don’t need to talk about anything, Dan.”

“Well your tongue down my throat says different.”

“Maybe I was just horny.”

“And you turned to me?  You’re afraid of even appearing to like me half the time, I’m not the one you call on to scratch an itch.”

“How on earth would you know?”

She wants to tear his face off sometimes, she swears, he’s the worst, how can he ever imagine she’d just…declare herself to him?  She fooled half the country into voting for Selina Meyer, she is not, by any stretch of the imagination, stupid.

“Well I know what Sophie said, and I know you don’t exactly sleep around, so – “

He did know that, which was the worst, he did know that sex for her was…more cautious than it was for him (because she’d always felt so supremely vulnerable in the moment of orgasm, never wanting anyone to see her that… _open_ ).

“Sophie’s an idiot, as we have ample proof, so –“

“Are you going to put her between us forever?  You don’t even _like_ her.”

“That’s not the point, you moron – “

“Well then what is?” He’s all but shouting at her now, and that’s fine, she can deal with him when he’s furious.

“There is nothing between us.  You proved it.”

“That’s not true – you didn’t come work with me because of your admiration for my methods.”

“No.  I want to win.  That’s why.  You’re a means to an end.”

He stares at her for a second.  “You think I don’t know when you’re lying?”

“I have no idea,” Amy says, and she’s starting to lose it now, she can hear the crack in her voice, “And I really, really don’t care.  You and I aren’t a thing – if we were, you wouldn’t have…  Well you’d have to be a completely different person.”

Dan’s still sitting too close to her – looking as though he wants to shake her or wring her neck or _something_.  His enraged silence draws even more words from her, words that hurt a little (a lot) because she knows they’re true.  “You made it clear before, and I’m making it clear now.  We’re nothing.”

“That’s what you want to be true.  For some Nevada hick who’ll bore you stiff in a month.”

She pretends not to notice this – though she hadn’t realised he knew about Buddy – and summons up her cruellest sentence.  “There’s not going to be a second round, so… get out of my room.”

He doesn’t move, so she gets off the bed and starts to unwind her hair dryer.  It’s only when she turns it on and gets to work on straightening her hair that he finally leaves.

Amy doesn’t cry.  She won’t give him the satisfaction.

(But she wants to).


	3. Chapter Three

 

In a strange way, Amy had hoped that fucking Dan would calm things down - take the edge of the tension that had slowly steamed up between them.

It didn’t.

If anything, it made things worse.  (And so _much_ worse too).  Dan hands her a paper and she gets a flash of how it felt to have his hand flat against the skin of her back.  She bites her lip in thought, and catches him staring at it.

None of which - weirdly - has any real impact on their ability to work together.  They’re too used to it, she supposes, too damn practiced in ignoring the fact that they’re in each other’s space.

She barely slept the second night in Chicago, leaving her grey-faced the next morning, but Dan has seen her thirty-seven hours into a fifty hour recount, so frankly, he can deal with it.  But she does use it as an excuse to sleep on the plane - and avoid him.  She wads up her jacket against the cabin wall and uses it as a pillow - she’s not running the risk of her head slumping onto his shoulder while she’s asleep.  Again.  

(It was one - okay three - times.  But there were a lot of long-haul flights when you worked for the President, and sleeping-Amy was a completely different person.  Plus, only a complete shit like Dan would be an ass about it.)  (Though by his standards, he really hadn’t been).  (It was worrying that she had one set of standards for actual humans and another for Dan).  (After the second time he’d made a point of mocking her about it when she was trying to fall asleep, she’d started to wonder if he enjoyed it).

They set to work - Dan making his occasional appearances on CBS, and Amy churning out strategy papers for the DNC.  Their consultancy is still in its infancy, and until there’s more (some) money coming in, neither of them is giving up their freelance work.  Besides, someone’s got to tell the Delaware Democratic Party how to stop screwing up, and Amy is in exactly the frame of mind to do it.

Admittedly, this is her least favourite part of politics.  It’s not that she doesn’t know that analysing demographic trends and messaging screw-ups is critical work - but she also knows that the most beautifully crafted strategy paper gets tossed out the nearest window at the first hint of trouble - and with the world the way it is, there are more than hints.  Strategy isn’t carefully following a clearly laid out set of steps - strategy is not letting the semi-constant grenade explosions of the 24-hour news cycle distract you from your ultimate goal.  (And if she ever finds a politician with an attention span greater than that of the average gnat, she’ll tell them so).

Needless to say, she envies Dan the instant gratification of his TV work.  She knows that that’s not all he’s doing, that he’s spending half his time at the Capitol trying to worm his way into the graces of passing Senators, but...still.

He comes to the office once or twice a day, makes fun of her outfit - or her hair - or whatever strikes him, and she asks how it feels to be a complete failure at sidewalk solicitation of politicians.  (Also, she hasn’t told him yet, but...she’s got her eye on the governor of Indiana.  That’s a woman with actual ideas).   It’s almost normal.

Almost.

She finds herself actually missing Mike and Ben and Sue (Sue the most), and even fucking Kent, because every time Dan walks into the room, it’s like all the oxygen leaves.  In the White House there was always _something_ to distract him from focusing his more sociopathic tendencies on her, but when it’s just the two of them…

It doesn’t help that their ‘office’ is tiny.  There’s a ‘conference’ room, which would fit maybe six people, at a pinch, and has an inexplicable loveseat in one corner, a tiny washroom, and the actual office room.  It’s cramped with their two desks, the oldest printer in the world, and the space age coffee-maker Ed had bought Amy once upon a time.  

The Tuesday after they got back from Chicago, Dan brings in his guitar and leans it against his desk, with no explanation as to why.  Amy had eyed (and continued to eye) it extremely dubiously.

Back when she’d first known him, he’d played the guitar for her.  They’d been friends first - running into each other ‘accidentally’ in the Capitol’s cafes every day for a month.  She’d come to his apartment for pizza and beer (in fact she really _had_ come to his apartment for that, because she was young), and they’d sat out on his tiny balcony, and he’d played “Wish You Were Here” for her, and she’d kissed him (she’d been so fucking _young_ ).  Dan was the first man she had kissed - rather than waiting for _him_ to kiss _her._ (She's never told him that).

So, Amy has her doubts about the guitar.

But in the silent war of attrition that is their office after Chicago, she is, for once, reluctant to pick a fight with him - she doesn’t want to trigger an actual shooting war.

She says nothing even when he insists on staying in the office and twanging tunelessly while she dresses for her date with Buddy.  It’s distracting as all hell, and she’s already nervous to begin with (she doesn’t know why).

His eyes widen slightly when she walks out (which, is gratifying, she won’t lie).  She’s been wearing jeans and chunky sweaters all week - comfort clothes - and she can tell from his reaction that he considers her slinky green dress another ‘Fuck You.’ (He’s not wrong).

He glowers at her as she steps into her stilettos.  “Back in the heels, I see.  Afraid Buddy won’t be able to reach you without help?”

“Buddy’s tall,” Amy says shortly.  She’s not in the mood.

“Where did you find him anyway?  Some factory where they crossbreed men with labrador puppies?”

“You haven’t even met him, what are you talking about?” she says.  “And it was Nevada.  Can I have my purse?”  It’s nestled right by his foot, and she’ll be damned if she’ll reach over him to get it.

“You didn’t start dating anyone in Nevada,” Dan says, his mouth drawn down into a sour lemon of petulance.  “I would remember.”

“Well, I guess you were too _busy_.”

He holds the purse out to her and - to Amy’s complete lack of surprise - tugs it back as soon as she’s grasped it, so that she stumbles closer to him, having to put her hand on his arm to steady herself. (Four inch heels have their disadvantages).

“You’re going to forgive me for Nevada,” he says, his mouth curling in what’s not quite a smirk. (As per fucking usual).

She pulls her purse back, feeling very tired suddenly.  “Maybe I might,” she said, “If you had ever apologised.  But I’ll die of old-age first.”  He’s staring at her, and Amy realises he still doesn’t _get_ it, just how repulsive it is to her, like, on a cellular level.  She hates his face.  “You know, I bet you didn’t even fucking hesitate.  In fact, I don’t bet, I know - when have you ever?”

She pulls her purse out of his hands, and gets her coat.  She’ll wait for Buddy outside.

* * *

  
  
When he arrives, Buddy hugs her and Amy hides her face in his neck and thinks of nothing, absolutely nothing.  It’s the most restful feeling - Buddy makes no demands of her, even if he finds her insistence on drinking wine an inexplicable quirk.

Or so she thinks.

Until the moment - just before dessert - when he pulls out an engagement ring.

The entire restaurant is staring at them, awaiting her fluttery, tearful acceptance, and all Amy can think is she hadn’t even known they were exclusive.

(She is too used to DC and the incubi who populate it.  For them exclusivity is a rarely reached landmark.  But Buddy’s not _like_ them - thus the basis of his appeal).

She can hear camera-phones snapping and Buddy is talking about the house they could build in Nevada, and she, carefully, sets her knife and fork down and refolds her napkin.  “I can’t marry you,” she says.  “I’m sorry.”

She’s not.  Not really.  Not at all.

Now, by most objective standards Amy is something of an asshole.  But she’s not _that_ kind of asshole.  She would never have knowingly cheated on Buddy, and she would never accept his proposal while in love (in whatever twisted way she is) with another man.  Besides, a ranch-style house in Nevada is not what she wants for her future.

She leaves, and Buddy chases her, and they have an entirely predictable fight.  And Amy just...can’t.  She’d never given him any indication that she was serious (one long weekend in Nevada doesn’t count), and she’d really rather he _didn’t_ feel awful, but it’s not her fault.  If he expects her to cry he’s got the wrong woman.

When he - finally - leaves, Amy goes to the nearest bar and orders a double shot of whiskey - and then another - and then another - and tries not scream while thinking about what just happened.

He’d asked her if there was someone else - there wasn’t.  (At least, not in the way he meant)

He’d asked if the someone else was Dan - and of course, it wasn’t.

He’d asked if Amy had ever cared - and she’d realised, with a jolt, that she hadn’t.  He was a sweet, kind man, and she wished him well (she supposed), but...she’d used him the way other women used a trip to the spa, or a vacation.

The more she thought about it the worse she felt, and when the bar finally closed she was too tired and drained to try finding a cab (and the idea of being alone in her apartment with her thoughts is intolerable), so she walks back to the office.  She’s drunk - but not the fun, expressive way she usually is - it’s a heavy, dragging grimness that sits low in her gut.  She feels like it will be there for days.  (But it won’t, that’s the thing).  She kicks off her heels and curls up on the stupid loveseat, hoping she’ll sleep eventually.

* * *

 

Dan finds her, because of course.

She wakes slowly, and actually groans when she’s finally awake enough to realise he’s watching her.  (She’s tempted to make some joke about him acting like Edward Cullen - he’s certainly creepy enough - but doesn’t want to remind him of Chicago).

“Morning sleeping beauty,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee.  (Probably just to taunt her).

She brings a hand to her forehead, which feels two sizes too large - sees his eyes tracking the movement - and asks him what time it is.  But he ignores her.

“No ring?”

“Ring, what are you...fucking Politico.  No, there’s no ring.”

Dan looks positively gleeful, and it is far too early in the morning for her to deal with that, whatever time it is - and when she sits up his smile widens even more.  “Is that my coat?” he says, knowing it is.

Amy actually clutches it closer to her, defensively.  She can’t deal with him.  “I got cold.”

“And you missed me?  Amy, you could have just called me.”

She shudders a little.  (It’s not like the thought didn’t cross her mind)

“I don’t know why you’re so grumpy,” he says.  “You escaped life chained to a pseudo lone star cowboy, I’d call that winning.  You have to be cruel to be kind with these people - well not kind, that’s just a waste of time.  Gut the corpse and dump it overboard, that’s what I say.”  He’s so giddy he’s practically vibrating, and Amy hates him more than she has probably hated anyone.

“I bet you would too, if you had any similarly sociopathic friends, but fortunately for humanity I don’t think any such people exist.  Nature selected them for extinction.  How long have you been here anyway?”

“Not long,” he says.  “Actually, I was going to wake you up, I was worried about your spine in that thing.”

The loveseat is small, but still.  “I’m a foot shorter than you Dan,” she says, stealing his coffee, because fuck him, if he bothers her in the morning this is what he gets.  “It was fine.”

“Maybe,” he says, looking at her doubtfully.  “But you’re not… you’re staying in Washington, with me, I mean, with this, right?”

“Yeah.  I’m staying in Washington.”  Even her voice sounds beaten.  “I was never going out to Nevada to be Buddy Calhoun’s sweetly doting wife if that’s what you were worried about.”  There’s sob in her voice at the end of that sentence.  

It’s such an ugly mirror to look into - she’d used Buddy for what he could give, and dumped him like so much trash when she was done.  She puts her head in her hands as Dan says, “Well good.  The party would never win another election.”

“Yeah,” she says from behind her hair.  “Good for me.”

“You’re being suspiciously calm,” he says.  “Finally take the valium I’ve been leaving by your desk?”

“No,” she says, and her voice is actually shaking with something now - pain, tears, self-disgust, she doesn’t know.  “I finally became you.  Are you proud?  I used him because I needed something, needed to stop _thinking_ for five minutes, needed someone to hold me who wouldn’t gut me at the first opportunity, and… and when I was done, when I'd got what I wanted, I dumped the poor fool.  And I don’t even care.  I don’t.  It’s his own fault, I never said, I never even suggested… you can’t understand.  You'll never understand.”

She comprehends with a sudden perfect clarity she’d never had before just how she had appeared to Dan all those years ago - how she still appeared to him.  And she is in love - sincerely somehow - with him, with a man who sees her like that.  (She misses Selina suddenly with a kind of desperate pang, because if there was one thing Selina understood it was shithead men).

Dan, who has never felt shame for a moment of his life, doesn’t say anything, and she takes another gulp of his coffee.  (Hoping the bitterness will help).  (It doesn’t).  Once he’s recovered from his shock, he’s going to find that little speech of hers hideously revealing.

Her phone buzzes, and they both jump.  “It’s my Mom,” Amy says, in a tone even she can admit sounds vaguely unhinged.  “She wants me to wear something nice on Sunday - we’re meeting Sophie’s new boyfriend and they really like him!”

“Then at least you know it’s not me,” he says, and Amy actually laughs.  (This way madness lies).

She stands.  “I’m going home.  Call it a sick day.  Or - whatever, I don’t care.”

He stands too - and takes his coffee - his hand lingering, warm on hers.  “What are you going to do?  Reread some fucking depressing Virginia Woolf?”

“Maybe.  I don’t know.  Maybe I’ll watch Die Hard and cheer on the terrorists.  Anything right now to keep from -”

“Thinking?”

That would be the thing she’d said he’d remember.  He still holds her hand - trying to lace his fingers through hers - and...frankly this is just starting to piss her off.  If he would make an unequivocal move she’d have the pleasure of shooting him down, but he _doesn’t._

“No.”  Amy says.  “I _need_ to think.”  And it’s true.

He rolls his eyes.  “I’m just offering,” he says, “Can’t blame me for trying.”  He lifts one hand to cup her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb, and the disconnect between his sleazy tone and his actions leaves her staring up at him for a moment, completely bemused.

(She wonders if he always stood this close to her, and she’s only just noticed.  It would explain why half of Washington thought they were screwing.)

She thinks of Buddy’s face the night before - of how she must appear to Dan.  “I really need you not to touch me right now.”

(Sexual consent has always been one of the few issues Dan actually gives a fuck about - as unexpected as that is from him - so he steps back almost immediately).

“It’s not like I’m Jonah, you know,” he says, a pissy little boy pout on his mouth.

“I know,” Amy says sweetly.  “If you were Jonah you wouldn’t have a ballsack left after that.”

He shrugs - fair enough - and Amy picks up her purse, puts her shoes on, to be in semi-respectable shape for when she hails a cab.

“Guess I’ll see you Sunday then,” he says.  “For Mike’s christening? ... You got the invite a month ago?”

“Right,” she says, like she hadn’t completely forgotten.

“Good thing you were planning to wear something nice.”  He’s leering at her again, and she doesn’t want to know _what_ he’s picturing.

“Someday,” she says, leaving, “I will snap, and shave your eyebrows off while you sleep.”

She hears him chuckling as she closes the door.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter Four

Amy’s Mom has always meant something particular when she says “Dress up nice,” and so Amy knows she can’t go to lunch dressed like herself, not when she’s meeting Sophie’s _wonderful_ new boyfriend.

When it comes to shopping, Amy’s priorities have tended to be easy to move in, easy to wash and requiring minimal ironing.  She wants to look good simply and easily – the last thing she wants is to spend hours vacillating over what shoes to wear.

Those are not her mother’s priorities.

What her mother wants is for Amy to look ‘pretty’ – not impressive, or dominant, or sleek, or professional.  Pretty.  And while Amy may find it all ludicrous, she doesn’t actively want to antagonise her mother unnecessarily.  (Which isn’t to say that she won’t antagonise her mother ever).

So, she digs into the back of her closet and pulls out the yellow sundress she bought in a fit of madness on a trip to Atlanta, back when Selina was still the Veep.  It should – just – look suitable for a christening and dinner (dessert, actually, the christening having given her an excuse) with her family.  (The neckline is a little lower than she’d like, but the thought of shopping for something else is unbearable, so…)

For all the sun is high in the sky, it’s a muggy, airless day, so she slips an umbrella and light cardigan into her purse before setting out for the church.

(Given that Mike is just about the least likely Christian Amy’s ever heard of, and she’s almost sure Wendy is Jewish, she’s not sure why this is happening, but whatever, it’s none of her business anyway).

Everyone from the White House is there, and Amy feels a surge of actual affection for them all – Gary, looking teary of course, Ben, and Sue – so much Sue.  (She already knows Sue is going to have words for her).  Even Jonah is there – which, if ever there was evidence that Mike is victim of Stockholm syndrome, there it is.

Dan – as usual – looks like he is about thirty seconds away from stabbing Jonah in his eye (so everything’s fine).  And Jonah, Jonah actually whoops when he sees her. 

“Amy Brookheimer, you look like the Sookie Stackhouse of Pennsylvania Avenue.  I will happily eat you up in great big bites, starting wherever you like.”  She’s not sure who looks more disgusted, her or Dan, and – with his usual slim grasp of human interaction - Jonah attempts to make it normal.  “Come on, Dan, you can’t miss so much lusciousness when it’s dangling right by your hands.”

Dan’s mouth is hanging open in the most slack-jawed, Neanderthal way she’s seen in a while (because, she realises a moment later, he’s been looking down her dress almost as much as Jonah has).

“I’m going to step away from the sexual harassment, and leave you two to it,” she says.  “Circle jerks aren’t for civilised people.”

She joins Sue and puts her cardigan on as they go into the church – not in the mood to have Jonah stand directly in front of her for the next ten minutes for a better view.

The christening itself is a shambles – not that she would expect more from Mike.  The pastor can’t remember which baby is which, and one of them giggle-gurgles the whole way through the ceremony, while the other one screams.

Mike and Wendy hold a barbecue in their backyard for the afters – naturally it’s thirty minutes’ drive away from the church, and Dan swoops down on her immediately (like she’d be stupid enough to get stuck in a car with him right now).  Fortunately, she’d arranged for Sue to drive her.

Admittedly, twenty minutes into the drive she’s started to question her judgement, because Sue has interrogated her – in sequence – about her break-up with Buddy, why she thought yellow was her colour, how the consultancy is going, and why in god’s name she thought sleeping with Dan was a good idea.

It baffles her now – and has baffled her for many years – why Sue hasn’t been recruited by the CIA.

“It was stupid, and I regret it, and somehow… it’s made everything worse.  It’s like the office is full of bear traps ever since.”

“Yeah, well,” Sue says, still staring at the road, “Sex is great for resolving sexual tension.  Emotional…”

“Dan doesn’t have those.”

Sue gives her a pitying glance.  “It wasn’t Dan I was taking about.”

Amy has no response to that.

 

* * *

 

Being at least somewhat socially gifted, Amy manages to avoid Dan for most of the barbecue.  (Which everyone has probably realised).  She lets Ben give her a hug – and Kent kisses her cheek – and they talk party gossip.  Maddox has finally resigned, and Owen Pearce apparently is planning a run for governor.  She’d worry at the thought of him with any kind of executive power, but it’s not like North Dakota is a state in which things haven’t already gone horrendously wrong, so…

“He’s going to have a problem with optics,” Kent says sagely.  “The people of North Dakota prefer family men.  And also turnips.”

Dan – who’d been lurking at the edges of the conversation for a while – grimaces and says, “Did you actually poll that?”

“The numbers say what they say Dan.”

“And I say anyone dumb enough to have thought out their opinion on turnips doesn’t deserve the vote.”

“Whatever,” Amy says, checking her phone.  “I’m going to have to go – so sorry.”

“You shouldn’t,” Ben says, “This party is so boring we’ll all be fucking each other with left over barbecue in an hour or so.  You’re missing out.”

“I’ll survive,” Amy says, her mouth stretched wide with sarcasm.

“Just don’t call me for a nightcap tonight, okay, I’ll be still be recovering.”

Amy’s stomach drops into her shoes as she tries to stumble a sentence out.  “That was… like I said that was just a mistake, that wasn’t supposed to be – those weren’t supposed to be for you.”  She can’t look at anyone.

“When was this nightcap, exactly?” Dan asks – and Amy can’t tell if he’s really interested or just entertained. 

“It’s not important,” she says hurriedly, but Ben answers the question.

“It was a while back,” Ben says, “Nevada, right?”

She can’t breathe.  Her throat is literally closing in on itself, as Dan turns on her, a vulture gleam in his eyes. 

“So who _were_ you booty-calling in Nevada, Amy?”

She is so glad she had put her drink down, as right now, she’s pretty sure she would drop it.  She’s biting out words, fumbling in a way she didn’t even when she was lying to Congress.  “That’s not… you don’t – you've no right to even…pretend that that that has _anything_ to do with – I don’t have to answer you.”

“Christ Amy,” Ben says, “I haven’t heard you this incoherent since… the Mississippi primary.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, shark-smiling, “It’s almost like there’s something you didn’t want me to know.”

“Oh for fuck sake Dan,” Ben says, sounding more tired than he did during actual national crises, “We all get it, you met a tiny blonde who can outthink you even when severely concussed, and you still haven’t gotten over it.  Can you just grow the fuck up and marry her or something and stop parading your little obsession in front of the rest of us?  Because watching the two of you right now is more painful than a vasectomy without anaesthesia, and she'll divorce your miserable ass in twenty years anyway.”

Amy doesn’t know who’s more startled.  Dan’s mouth is actually hanging open, and she takes the opportunity, orders her uber and _runs_ out of the party.  (She doesn’t even say goodbye to Mike because rudeness is the last thing she’s worried about right now).

She actually considers hiding behind a tree while she waits, but decides against it.  It’s not suitable behaviour for a grown adult woman (also, the tree isn’t wide enough).  Her stomach still feels like it’s falling, and the airless feeling of the day has made it even harder to breathe, and…

Dan knows. 

If she’d had a smidgen of sense she could have played it off, said she was texting Buddy, but her inability to construct even a full sentence will have given it away.  After all, it’s not like Dan is _stupid_.  He’ll remember that – right before she’d found out about Sophie – she’d mentioned that he hadn’t answered her texts.  He’ll put it together… has probably already put it together.

She hears the most blessed sound on earth – her car driving up – just as Dan comes shooting out of the house (she’s guessing Ben held him back for more abuse).  But she’s not worried, her hand is on the door handle and she’s opening the door when she hears him shouting her name.

The driver – a serene looking black man – smiles at her.  “You want me to wait?”

She slams the door.  “Absolutely not.”

Dan is right outside.  “Amy,” he says, “Open the door.”

“Just go,” she says to the driver.  “It’s fine.”

“Amy,” she hears his hand slap the glass, “We’re going to talk about this.”

“Go.”  Amy says, and they finally drive off.  She can see Dan looking after them – swearing to himself (or anyone who’s listening).

 

* * *

 

What the fuck?  What the ever-loving fuck?

Sophie’s new boyfriend – the boyfriend her entire family hasn’t been able to stop talking about – the boyfriend who is apparently the best man on earth… is Owen Pearce.

Congressman Owen Pearce is dating her sister.

Amy stares out at the rain sliding down the window of her cab.  Nothing about the world right now makes sense.  Where would they even have met?  What do they even see in each other?  (Well, he’s pleasant enough, Amy supposes, and reasonable looking, but…)

Her parents love him.  They think he’s sweet and sensible and husband-material (basically the direct opposite of Dan) and beside him Sophie seems lively and sweet and not like the vacuum of need she normally is.

In comparison, her life seems almost sane.

The more she thinks about it the more she laughs – Sophie’s going to be attending the next Congressional Ball.  Pearce’s chief of staff must be having a nervous breakdown at the thought of it. (Amy would be).

She puts her umbrella up as she gets out of the cab, digging in her purse for her keys.  The rain is storming down, the drops almost stinging as they hit her skin.  She’s going to order pizza and read her biography of Tip O’Neill.  (Okay, read something).

Amy has just slid the key in when her umbrella is jerked out of her hand.  She turns, and Dan is _right there_ , she didn’t even hear him. 

“You’re letting me in,” he says.

“Okay,” she says, “You are getting into actual restraining order territory now.”

“Don’t really care,” he says.  “You’re still letting me in.”

He’s soaked through, and Amy wonders for a second just how long he’s been standing outside her door.  She realises that obviously, yes, she is going to let him in, because she doesn’t have the time or patience to have a fight about this on the street.  Besides, there’s that Chinese proverb about lying back to enjoy it when it’s inevitable.

“Fine,” she says, thinking she can just slit her wrists in the bath if it’s too horrible.  “We’re talking in the kitchen, I don’t want you dripping all over my floors.”

“Anytime any place sweetie.”

But when they get in he just stands there, damp and staring, and she loses patience and throws a towel at him.  “What?” she says, “What is it that you want?”

He doesn’t say anything, though he takes his jacket off.  She is not going to even acknowledge that his shirt is damn near transparent (and clinging).  “What do you _want_?” she says.  “I don’t need a mime.” 

He still says nothing.  “Dan, I have a pleasant evening of not being around you planned, so if you could just… and jesus, I gave you the towel so you’d use it, not to flood my kitchen.”

She huffs, completely worn down by him, and pulls the towel out of his hand.  This problem she can actually solve.  She reaches up and uses it to dry his hair – not really caring if she’s too rough – and then his neck, and then his stupid long arms.

“Are you not going to fight me?  You were so determined to get in here.”

He’s staring down at her, and Amy realises – startled really – that one of her hands is resting on his chest, and pulls it back.

“Maybe I just like having your hands on my body,” he says.

She steps back sharply.  “What the fuck, Dan?”

But he follows her, backing her up against the counter.  “It was me in Nevada, wasn’t it?  I was the one you –“

“That’s not important, you don’t get to –“

“It was me.  You _wanted_ me to come up to your big old hotel room, you wanted me that whole night, _didn’t_ you?  That’s why you were such a witch afterwards – you had it all built up in your mind like some goddamn romance novel, like I was going to come pounding down your door, that’s what you wanted –“

“Yes!” She shouts it almost in his face.  “Yes, is that what you want to hear?”

“I knew it!"

“Great, I hope it keeps you warm at night.  I was stupid enough to let myself – “

“Let yourself?  You been fighting it for that long, Amy?”

“No, that’s not – the second I… you went and confirmed every worst thought I had about you.  You don’t want me, you don’t want anyone, you'd fuck yourself if you could.”

“Oh sure,” he says, “It’s all my fault.”

“Yes.  Yes, it _is_ your fault.  You should have that sentence tattooed on your fucking forehead, because it’s always going to be true.”

“You want me just as much as I want you,” Dan says, smug oozing off of him.  “I always knew you were just trying to hide it.”

And Amy slaps him.

The sound seems to echo in her ears for a long time, and she stares up at the redness of his cheek.  Her hand really stings.

“I’m sorry,” she says, after the silence has gone on too long.  “I’ve never done that before.”

“Nice to know I’m your first,” Dan says, with a hand on his jaw.  “But really, did you think there was even the slightest chance I wouldn’t enjoy it?”

She laughs.  She can’t help it.  It might sound slightly hysterical – the kind of laughter that people die from – but it is laughter.

“You never mentioned a kink before.”

“Well,” he says, stepping even closer to her, “You’re special.”

And then he’s on her.  It was probably inevitable.

His hands start at her face, but rapidly move…well, everywhere it feels like, as he kisses her harder and harder.  It’s not nice, it’s not gentle, he’s demanding, he wants everything.  (But then she’d always known he was ruthless).

He huffs out an impatient noise, sliding his hands under her skirt, and a moment later he’s lifted her so her legs are wrapped around his waist.  The change in height bumps her mouth away from his, and they stare at each other for a moment. 

Slowly, deliberately, Amy puts her hands on each side of his face and kisses him, open and wet and smooth.  He nibbles on her bottom lip for a moment before letting her pull away.  “Bedroom?” he says.

She gestures, because what the hell, sheep as a lamb, and drops kisses along his jaw as he walks them to the bed.  (His arms must be killing him.)

He sits them down, so she’s straddling him, and there’s a moment when she can’t quite look at him.  This isn’t like Chicago – it’s deliberate, it’s intentional – and she’s not sure she can ever walk it back.

“This fucking dress,” he says, bunching it up in his hands.

“What’s wrong with it?  You seem to like it well enough.”

“It’s not what’s wrong with it,” Dan says, and slides his hand into her underwear.  She gasps a little, and then he kisses away the response she was planning to make, one of his fingers teasing her.

“What are you doing?” she says, “There’s nothing in it for you.”

The last word is embarrassingly stretched out as he slides a second finger inside her, and he grins.  “That’s not the point,” he says, starting to move, and oh god, he’s better with his hands than he used to be, or maybe she’d just forgotten.

He keeps moving, the heel of his hand pressing firmly in the exact right spot, and Amy’s hips start moving involuntarily.  She tries to kiss him, to keep kissing him (because she really does want to), but soon she realises she just can’t concentrate on it while he’s touching her like this.

She moves to lean her head against him, to stifle her moans and gasps in his shoulder, but Dan doesn’t let her.  He pulls her head back up with his free hand.  “No,” he says, still touching her, “I want to see you.”

She nods – or shakes her head – or something – and she’s really riding his hand now, her hips jerking back and forth and her breath catching in her throat, the little whimper sounds she’s making sounding incredibly loud in the room.  As she gets closer, she leans her forehead against his, clasping her hands around his neck, because she needs something to hold her up. 

When she comes, it’s what Amy privately calls a long one, tremors spreading through her body for thirty, forty seconds (who is she kidding, she doesn’t know), feeling them in her fingers and her toes and her teeth even.  She couldn’t have kept her eyes open if she tried, and as her breathing slows down she opens them again. 

Dan is… right there, and his face is…bright, somehow, and she can’t…can’t… can’t have him see her like this. 

“I always knew you wanted me,” he says, and Amy hides her face in his neck.  She wants to scrunch herself down into the smallest size possible, wants to hide out in his arms so he’ll never see her face again.

They sit there for a while, his hands stroking gently down her arms and across her back, ghost touches almost, that don’t fully connect.  He plays with the hem of her dress, and maybe he really does have a thing for it…

Dan clears his throat.  “I take it I’ve proved my point?”

For a moment she wants to snuggle even closer – away from his eyes – but that’s not who Amy is, not really.  So she lifts her head, sits back on her heels, and looks him dead in the eye.  “At the next election,” she says, “Or whenever we need it, you are our attack dog.  You’re much better at it than I am.”

Dan grins – _grins_ – like she is just delightful, like she has made his day, and Amy kisses him.  It’s not nice – it’s a filthy tease of a kiss, all teeth and tongue.

He breaks away first.

“Okay,” he says, “We have to stop.”

“Why?"

“We are not having sex tonight.”

“What?”

“Disappointed sweetheart?”

“But it’s… _you_.  And… it’s you.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, like yes, Amy does have a point, he has to admit that.  “And if we have sex tonight you are going to spend the next month waiting for me to – “

“Dump me horribly, cheat on me, break my – “

“Yeah,” he says.  “So we’re not doing that.  We’re taking it slow.”

“You already finger-fucked me,” Amy says, not angry so much as…confused.  “Slow kind of went out the window.”

“Still,” he says, looking determined.

“Dan, I know you,” she says, still trying to work out his angle.  “You’re not going to fool me into thinking you’re…not you.”

“I’m not trying to fool you,” he says.  “I know exactly what you think of me.”

“And I’m not wrong.”

“Well…”  He can’t finish the sentence, because that’s obvious.  “So we take it slow.”

“Is this because of what Ben said?”

“No,” he says, petulant as always.  “Maybe.  Not really.”

“Okay?” Amy says, “Did you get hit on the head?”

“No, Jesus, is that hard to believe that someone likes you –“

“Someone, no, I’m very attractive.  But you…”  Amy’s playing with the collar of his shirt now, because, she kind of really really wants to have sex tonight, and she knows it’ll annoy him.

“Don’t you get it?” Dan says, looking at her seriously, for the first time in…well, his life.  “You’re my favourite person.  Everyone else knows it, I don’t know how you don’t.  And I realised, if everyone knows, there’s no reason I can’t have what I want.”

Amy has to sit back to take that in, and she looks at him for a long time.  He meets her gaze steadily, but…she can tell, he’s worried.

“It’s not…like we’re dating,” she says.

“No.  But we will be.”  She raises an eyebrow at him.  “When you say.  You don’t trust me not to… but you will.  So we take it slow.”

“Are you serious, or are you just planning to throw me under – “

She’s cut off by his lips on hers, his mouth firm and insistent, and okay Dan is a relentless motherfucker when he wants to be, how did she forget that?

“Okay,” she says, “We’ll do what you…we’ll do it your way.”  She chews on her lip for a moment, and he hisses out a breath.  “Sorry,” she says.  She hadn’t meant to.

He clenches his jaw, seeming to steady himself, and says, “When you’re ready – when you…believe me – then we can…”

“Oh thank god,” Amy says, and he laughs.  “I was starting to think you had a brain tumour or something.”

“No, not even a little.  And obviously," he says, looking her up and down, "I hope it'll be soon.”

“Wait a second,” Amy says, slapping his shoulder in sudden glee, “Did you…strategize this?  Is this all part of your cunning plan?”

He says nothing, and flushes slightly, and she cackles.  “You could have just asked me out, like a _normal_ person.”

“And you would have told me to jump in the Potomac.”

She nods – that’s fair.  “So what’s your plan for the evening?” he says.

“I was going to watch a terrible movie and order pizza,” she says.  “I didn’t get any food at that barbecue.”

“Then we do that,” he says and her stomach rumbles embarrassingly.  “But, Amy,” he says, rougher, “Could you wear a different fucking dress?”

She really laughs then, an actually happy laugh (and it’s been a while), and when he looks at her with smiling eyes, she kisses him once, quickly, on the lips.

“Okay.”


	5. Chapter Five

Amy came into work the first morning after as though nothing had changed (although obviously it had) (and even more obviously, it hadn’t).

She couldn’t shake the feeling that fundamentally, she and Dan were still stuck in the status quo.  The temporary high of sexual release didn’t erase the past, didn’t erase Sophie.  And it certainly didn’t erase her bone-deep conviction that telling Dan how she felt would be a fatal mistake (though at this point that was probably redundant).

So she was his favourite person – with someone as self-absorbed as Dan, what did that even mean?  It didn’t really seem like something to be relied on.  (And she wanted to be able to rely on him, which was the worst part).

Amy had spent more time trying to out-manoeuvre Dan than anyone, and she knows that if she thinks about it too much she’ll wind up paralysed, torn between move and counter-move.  She also knows that her tendency to assume Dan always has an angle has generally been correct – with one single exception. 

There was no reason for him to get her a lobbying job – no reason for him to commiserate with her about the difficulties of being Campaign Manager and get her drunk and make sure she got home safe – and no reason for him to sit on the fact that she’d actually had feelings for him, for years.  (Amy could still _murder_ her mother for having told him, but the fact remained, he’d never once tried to use it to his advantage).

She had idly wondered if, as the only person Dan seemed capable of treating even halfway decently, she had an obligation to other women, to stay with him, and protect them from him.  But it was a foolish thought.

Amy hadn’t felt particularly proud of herself when she’d realised she would be perfectly happy to stay with Dan if she could trust him not to turn his shithead behaviour on her, but it’s the truth.  (Sometimes she wonders how she sleeps at night).  But she can’t trust him (Sophie), and no number of orgasms can change that.

So the atmosphere in the office is weird, in a whole new way (for them).  In some ways, it’s an improvement – Dan’s no longer trying his best to make her want to jump out of her skin – and in other ways… Knowing that when he gives her those looks or crowds into her space, he’s not doing it _just_ to fuck with her, he’s doing it to because he really _does_ want to bend her over her desk, or toss her up against a wall, well knowing that just makes Amy even more nervous.  (What if he actually tries it?)  (What if she lets him?)  (It’s not that she doesn’t want to – but she doesn’t know what comes after.)

Dan says he’s put his cards on the table, but until she’s sure those are his only cards, and that she understands why he chose _those_ cards and not others, Amy can’t make a decision.

Some of it did make sense, she had to admit.

Amy had decided – shortly before the inauguration and the end of Selina’s presidency – that once they were no longer working together, she would quietly distance herself from Dan.  He’d been _weird_ with her since Nevada – aggressively reminding her that he was sleeping around (Sophie), that there were other women in his life, in a way he never had before.  It was like he _wanted_ to see her flinch.  (Naturally, Amy had disdained any appearance of noticing this behaviour.  If nothing else, not giving Dan what he wanted was a sound strategy to live by).

So a little distance had seemed the sensible plan.  She would focus on her own career and on Buddy (though look how well that had turned out) and she would cut Dan Egan gently – but surgically – out of her life.

It had been hard.  It had been harder even than Amy had expected it to be.  Her phone was in her hand half a dozen times a day to text him – and she missed looking at him and seeing her thoughts reflected on his face.  You can’t go from spending all day every day with someone, to engaging with them only via CBS news (not that she'd ever let him know she'd watched), without feeling something of a wrench, or, at least, so Amy had reasoned with herself.

She hadn’t expected Dan to _notice._

Well, no.  She’d assumed he’d notice – she just hadn’t thought he’d _care_.

What Amy hadn’t thought of – and perhaps she should have – was that _other_ people would notice.  At least, so Dan had said.  (She blamed Ben telling Congress they were ‘mating’ for that one).

They had talked for a while that night, and though not everything he’d said made her feel _better_ exactly, it had made her feel clearer, steadier at least.

According to Dan, everywhere he’d gone, every meeting he’d had, people had asked about her.  (Reading between the lines, Amy assumed this had included numerous attempts to hit on women, but she hadn’t wanted to pursue the point).  And according to Dan, it was the _way_ they’d asked that really bothered him.  Everyone seemed to know they were no longer joined at the hip, and they’d been, horror of horrors, _sorry_ for him.

“They all acted like you’d dumped me,” Dan had said, sitting on her couch and grumbling, “Like I was some sadsack ex-boyfriend.”  (Which, yeah, Amy can see how, to someone outside the situation, it might have looked that way).  (And just how much that would have irked him).

She’d snorted at him.  “You mean you were made to feel stupid, and embarrassed for liking someone more than they liked you?  I feel so sorry for you.”  Dan flicked a glance at her at that, and she’d added, “I’m probably a hero to the women of DC right now.”

“But that wasn’t the worst part,” he’d added, looking annoyed (with her or himself, she couldn’t tell), “I actually… I actually did miss having you around.”

“Oh Dan,” she’d said, “That's almost sweet.”

“Yeah, I know.  That’s what all those people thought too.  It’s embarrassing – I had a reputation.”

“Am I supposed to apologise because you finally grew a feeling?  It had to happen someday.”

“Show me in a book where that’s written down?”

“You never know – in fifty years or so, you might even turn into a real boy.  Besides,” she’d added, when he still looked grumpy.  “I… I kind of like it.”

She’d avoided meeting his eye as she said this – the confidence of an hour before already slipping away – but Dan kissed her anyway, a melting, gentle kiss that started off almost romantic and then rapidly escalated…

“Anyway,” Dan said, when they’d managed to separate (though separate meant she was still sitting in his lap), “If I was going to have to deal with all the disadvantages of being tied to you, I might as well have the benefits.”

It’s the most Dan-like reasoning Amy’s ever heard, but it makes a _kind_ of sense.  (Not that she’s especially comfortable with it, but she can see the logic).  “And so began your cunning plan to manipulate me into…” she’d almost said ‘a relationship,’ but bit it back in time, and says, “Your bed?”

“No,” Dan said, and she could tell he caught her hesitation.  “I was just thinking about the consultancy.  We’re a good team, and…you _always_ think I’m manipulating you, so you can’t get upset the one time you were right.  Though,” he added, leering, “It’s not like I hadn’t thought about it.  It just didn’t seem like a thing that would happen…well, not until your sister said you –”

“Right.”  She wished he hadn’t brought up the enormous elephant in the room.

Dan looked as though he knew it had been a mistake, but soldiered on.  “And, just so you know, if I had got even one of those messages I’d have – ”

“If you are about to say you’d have come to me with your dick still wet from my _sister_ , please don’t.”

He’d look at her, startled – as though he’d somehow managed to forget it was a raw nerve. “It’s a shame, that’s all.”

“Interesting choice of words.”  She’d felt tight all over, the way she always did when she thought about it.

Dan had put his hand on her knee, warm and solid, breaking her chain of thought.  “What I’m trying to say is… if I’d known there was a choice… there wouldn’t have been one.”  She hadn’t _said_ anything doubtful, but she must have looked it, because he added, “I’d have broken the door down.”

It was too unpleasant for her to want to keep talking about, and Amy leaned her head back and let the conversation move on to other things.  (Mike’s babies did have kind of weird faces, it had to be said).

He’d kissed her goodnight, and she’d let him go, and when she’d seen him the next day, her actual brain had kicked into gear and all her confidence had drained away.  With Dan, how could she ever _know_ all of his cards were face-up?

He’d kissed her forehead – almost absently – when she gave him a coffee that first morning.  Amy didn’t know what her face had done, but he’d seen something, because he’d all but groaned, and said.  “I know I shouldn’t have left you alone.  You’re having a nice little twitchy freak-out in there, aren’t you?”  Sometimes his ability to read her really was a curse.

“No,” she’d said.  “I’m just not sure.”

There wasn’t anything Dan could say to that, and he knew it, so they both got to work.  And things had continued in that same vein – tense but steady – until they got the call.  The Governor of Indiana was happy – delighted – excited – to meet with them.

* * *

 

She’d been barraging Dan with news clippings, and policy positions, and youtube videos of the Governor’s speeches, and he had eventually agreed to have the meeting (though he’d also sharply reminded her that the mid-terms were in fourteen months, and they needed to focus on drumming up business for that).  (Which, he wasn’t wrong).

Still, Amy had begged and pleaded and argued (and sometimes she wondered if he was prolonging the whole process out of some perverse enjoyment of it) and eventually she had worn him down.

And things felt easier between them once they were out of DC.  It made no sense, but Amy could hold his hand or let herself kiss him without feeling like she was putting on a performance (and Dan took full advantage of the fact).  Even when they got to the motel and she discovered he’d only booked them one room.  (Because of course).  She tried to glare at him – and the glare had turned into a smile – an expression she was beginning to consider uniquely his.

They went into their crappy motel room, and Amy changed for the meeting, resisting the urge (well, not really) to pace around the room, and check her email, and double-check that her carefully laid out strategy paper was safely in her purse.

Dan watched with something that pretended to be concern.  “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Yeah, well,” Amy said, wringing her hands and not being able to make herself stop.  “It’s like going on a first date with a guy I really like who’s also interviewing me for a great job while being the most terrifying teacher I ever had.”

“First dates make you nervous?”  She gave him a look, and if anything, his grin widened.  “Did _our_ first date make you nervous?”

“I didn’t know our first date _was_ a first date,” Amy said tartly.  “Pizza and beer didn’t exactly…”  Dan snickered, and she continued, frustrated.  “I was younger then, okay.  I hadn’t been exposed to your brand of asshole before.”

“I know,” Dan said.  “It was cute.”

Amy bit her lip, because she remembered that day all too well.  He’d finished his song, and she’d kissed him, and when she’d gone to pull back he hadn’t let her, and had actually lifted her up, bridal style, carried her to his room and all but thrown her on his bed.  (Even after she knew his true character, it was hard to accept that that desire hadn't been real). 

It was the first time she’d slept with a man so early on (though far from the last), and she was sure her nerves had shown through.  But Dan had been great about it – even sweet in his own odd way – and they’d gone out a few more times, he’d made her feel sexy and interesting and made her laugh, (and when they ran into her parents, he’d charmed her mother to a worrying degree), and her boss had cited his position paper in a major speech, and the next day, Dan had turned to her as they lined up for coffee, and dumped her in the time it took for them to foam her cappuccino.  “It’s been fun,” he’d said, “But I got everything I need from you.  And really quite quickly.”

In the space of forty-five seconds, Amy had gone from giddiness about her new boyfriend to abject humiliation.  She hadn’t cried – she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction – but she’d wanted to.  (It didn’t help that the barista had rolled his eyes at Dan, but looked at her sympathetically – having, Amy later realised, witnessed this particular scenario play out more than once.)

“Anyway,” Amy said, wanting to move from this topic.  “The Governor’s not like you.  We need to make a good impression” 

(She’d tortured herself for a while afterwards, wondering if _any_ of it had been even remotely real – if he had even been attracted to her at all – before realising that the best answer (for her _sanity_ ) was that none of it had been, and Dan was a lizard in human form).  (It had actually been more unnerving, when she realised, years later, that the most likely explanation was that he _had_ thought she was cute and sexy and interesting…and then had fucked her over _anyway_ ).

“Okay,” he said looking at her, “Come here, I want to try something.”  He held his hands out, and she took them (slightly reluctantly) – and was unsurprised to find herself pulled into a kiss a moment later.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like it – if anything she liked it too much, and she tried to pull back, saying just his name, softly, because she didn’t want to tell him he couldn’t.

“Come on, Amy,” Dan said, his hands placed firmly on her shoulders.  “You’ve barely let me touch you in a month.  Let’s just…call this an experiment.  Plus we’re not meeting them for half an hour, so…”

“Oh fine,” she said, not bothering to restrain her smile.

He sat her gently down on to the bed, “If you’re planning on giving me a backrub or something, I should really just review –”

He pushed her back to lie against the pillows.  “Just cooperate for once in your life, all right.”  He’s crawling up her body now, and Amy’s mouth goes dry.

Dan kisses her, and as he does so, he pushes her legs apart with his knee.  Her skirt rucks up around her hips, and Amy starts to push against his chest, worried that it’ll crease, but she doesn’t finish the thought, because Dan starts to push her underwear down, crooked fingers curling into the lacy fabric and _pulling_. 

“Dan,” she says, “There isn’t time.”

He ignores her, and slides back down her body, resting his chin on her navel and looking up at her with wicked eyes.  “What?” he says, “Afraid you might like it?”

Under normal circumstances, Amy would leap a tall building in a single-bound for a good oral sex – there’s no doubt in her mind that she’ll _like_ it.  That isn’t the problem.  She clears her throat and tries to summon a cool, disinterested tone, but she’s practically vibrating under him, so she doesn’t think he buys it.  “Not at all, I’m delighted you’ve learned a new skill – oh –”

Unlike their other recent encounters, which had happened seemingly faster than the speed of thought, this is slow and steady.  Dan spreads her wide and eats her up, and Amy feels all the nervous energy that had seemed to fill her hair and her fingers and her toes being drawn down to him – as though his mouth is the anchor and the rest of her body is the chain.

He hands splay out across the bed, and she needs to grip something, anything, so when Dan reaches up his spare hand and grips her fingers, she hangs on for dear life.  He’s lifted one of her legs over his shoulder and Amy finds herself hyper-conscious of the friction of his shirt against her skin as her foot moves up and down in tandem with the shifts of his body.

When she comes, it’s almost quiet, for all the fireworks behind her eyes, and Amy stares up at the ceiling and tries to catch her breath.  Dan clambers up beside her, an offensively self-satisfied look on his face.  She reaches out a hand to touch him, but doesn’t quite reach, and lets it fall back on the bed.  “I always wondered if that would work,” he says.

“You are such a shit,” Amy says, and god her voice actually sounds affectionate, she needs help.  “What, did you fantasise about eating me out in the Oval Office?”

Dan says nothing until she looks at him sharply – and she can see he doesn’t feel in the least ashamed.  “And the Veep’s,” he says.  “What, you think I’m the only one?”

Amy shudders, because it’s one thing for _Dan_ to have those kind of thoughts about her, but the others… “Well, I always thought,” she says, lifting a hand to smooth down his hair, “that if I fucked you hard enough, maybe, just maybe, you'd be speechless, and I would finally have got you to shut the fuck up.”  Dan grins, highly entertained, and she adds, “Because then I’d win.”

“Ame, you’re welcome to try any time you feel like it.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she says dryly.

“I’m just going to annoy you more now.”

“Well that’s not possible,” Amy says.  She never wants to get off the bed – she feels languid, boneless and loose (doubtless, just as he’d planned).

* * *

 

The meeting with the Governor is not entirely a success. She’s bubbly and idealistic and incredibly wonkish (Amy has never seen so many colour-coded binders) and she seems like the kind of naif that would be chewed up and spit out by DC.

But.

She also takes an instant and intense dislike to Dan, treating his every attempt to be charming with obvious suspicion.  Amy likes her for it – whatever about her boundless enthusiasm and terrifying energy, there's clearly an astute mind underneath.

Over the next few days she and Dan bicker about it periodically – she suspects he’s affronted by a woman not instantly warming to him (or just…startled).  Eventually, Amy had thrown her hands up and said, “She had you nailed the moment she met you.  How many times has that happened?  I’m telling you, she’s real thing.”

“I don’t think she’ll take us.”

“She liked _me_ ,” Amy said, which was true.

“ _And_ I think you’re making too much of her not liking me.”

“It’s more than I managed,” Amy said, and Dan had nodded (he is _such_ a shit sometimes).  “Or Selina, or –”

“All right, all right,” he said.  “Want to come over for pizza and beer later?”  He waggled his eyebrows, to make sure she ‘got’ it.

“Thanks,” Amy said, “But no.  I have to have dinner with my family.  Sophie has an ‘announcement.’  I really hope she’s not pregnant, again.”

“She won’t be,” Dan said, looking disappointed (maybe?)  (Or maybe he saw it as a chance to score elsewhere, who knew?)

“And you know this how?”

“Pearce can’t have kids, that’s why his marriage broke up.  This is why you need to listen to more gossip.”

“Why would I do that when I have you?” Amy said.  “Though that’s a relief.”

“Always happy to help.  And you know, if you want a nightcap later…”

“I won’t,” Amy said, “But thanks.”

And she’d kissed him on the cheek – and then went back to kiss him more properly, on the mouth, because she couldn’t help it – and left.  She knew Dan was being…(for him) bizarrely patient with her (it was probably the longest stretch he’d gone without sex in his entire adult life), but she couldn’t seem to find it in herself to take the leap.  She wanted to – she really did – but…well, she’d done so before, and Dan hadn’t exactly been there to catch her (though he had commented admiringly on the trajectory of her fall).

So, she drove to dinner, and sat through all three courses, and listened to her mother gush over Pearce, and her father grump about everything…and then Sophie announced that she was engaged.  To Congressman Owen Pearce.  Who was running for Governor of his home state (as a result of which, Sophie and the kids were going to move there for the new school year – which made perfect political sense, but upset her mother all the same).

Amy nodded, and smiled, and congratulated them both – thinking that at least Pearce seemed like he’d be a decent stepdad to her nieces and nephews – and continued to wonder about it.

But she got her chance to clarify things when Sophie and her Mom went to the bathroom.  Not caring what her Dad would think, (or rather, knowing he’d approve), Amy leant closer to Pearce and said sweetly, “You know I have clout.”

“Of course, of course Amy – you know how much I respect you.”

“Good,” she said, still keeping her sweet tone.  “So you know that if you don’t treat Sophie right – if you’re just using her as a political prop – I can ruin you.”

“Relax, Amy,” Pearce said, smiling an especially stupid smile.  “Dan already told me this.”

Her Dad choked on his drink, and Amy’s voice sounded far away to her own ears as she repeated, “ _Dan_ told you this?”

“Yeah, when he set Sophie and I up – didn’t she tell you?”  No, no she had not, and Amy could guess the reason why.  “He said you’d kill me if I ever misbehaved and he’d hold me down.  And that you would be a lot nicer than he'd ever be.”

“Of course he did,” Amy said.

(Her Dad looked stunned.  On the one hand, Sophie was engaged – on the other, it was due to Dan, who he _loathed_.  Amy had no help to offer him).

Her Mom came back and insisted they order a bottle of champagne and hear more about Sophie and Owen’s plans, and Amy sat there, trying to smile and thinking furiously.

Sophie had been dating Pearce for about four and a half months, so far as Amy could tell (which made an engagement _insane_ , but whatever).  That was before Dan had even approached her about the consultancy, let alone anything else.

It made no sense.

Her family’s celebrations didn’t end until after one am, and Amy went home and tried to sleep.  A mistake – no matter what, she couldn’t find a _reason_ for Dan to have done it.  (Well, except for one, but it seemed so _unlikely_ that she wanted to slap herself for thinking it).

At close to three she gave up on the fight, got out of bed, and drove over to his apartment.  If she couldn’t sleep neither should he.

She repeatedly called his phone and banged on his door and tried not think of all the reasons why this was a terrible idea (there were so many).  Finally, he picked up, voice thick with sleep.  “Decided you wanted that nightcap after all?”

“Not exactly,” Amy said.  “Can you let me in, I’m outside.”

He groaned, but he came and opened it.  Amy was shifting from foot to foot, and she pushed past him hurriedly.  “Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, touching her face, and it was clear exactly what he had in mind.

“You’re alone?”  He actually _did_ look insulted at that, and Amy stumbled on, “I mean, I know we’re not – well we’re not – I know I couldn’t get mad.”  But she would, and they both knew it.

Dan sighed, and put his hands on her shoulders, walking her in front of him into his bedroom. “Completely alone.”

 “Okay,” Amy said, chewing on her lip and not meeting his eyes.  She didn’t know where to start.  “I couldn’t sleep.”

“And so you decided I shouldn’t either?”

Amy shrugged, keeping her eyes focused on his adam’s apple rather than look at him.  His hair was mussed up from his pillow, and his bare chest was distractingly…visible.

“I thought,” Amy said, “I’d know what to say when I saw you.”

But she didn’t.  Dan had set Sophie up with another man – had definitively drawn a line under it – and he hadn’t told her.  And the only reason for it, the only angle Amy could find, was that he truly did want her.  And that thought filled her chest up so much she hardly had air for words.

“Amy, look, you’re always welcome at three am, but –”

She kissed him.

A more reflective man would have stopped her, would have wanted to know what was the matter, but when it came to sex, Dan was refreshingly predictable.  Even as she pulled his head down, he was pulling her up to him, and within seconds his hands were in (and removing) her pyjama shorts.

“Come straight from bed, did you?” he said, and she could feel the smirk against her mouth.  “Cause these are different than I remember.”

“It was cold in New Hampshire, asshole.”

“If you needed to get warm, you only had to ask.”

“Shut the fuck up Dan,” she said, placing both hands flat on his chest and pushing.  He laughed as he landed on the bed, but he didn’t complain when she climbed on top of him.

“You are _such_ an asshole,” Amy said, pinning his arms over his head.  “You are _the_ shit, do you know that?”

He thrust his hips up against her, and she bit back a groan at the feeling.  “I don’t see you complaining.”

“I said, shut the fuck up.”  She kissed his chest, and used one hand to shove his boxers down.  (Which meant she had to let _his_ hands go, but given what he was doing with them, she didn’t really mind).

He actually gasped when she finally had him in the right position, and Amy rocked her hips back and forth, batting away his hands – _she_ would set the rhythm – and enjoying the glazed look on his face.

His breathing was coming faster and faster, and she could see him trying to concentrate, biting his lip even, so as not to give in.  He gritted out, “Sure could use those New Hampshire pyjamas now,” and Amy made as if to hit him.

But he caught her hand, and used it to pull her closer to him.  “No, no, no.  Not without a safe word” he said, smirking and pressing her to his chest as her hips continued to move.  He kissed her firmly, and she felt his thumb pressing against her clit…

And then they were both coming, the curtain of her hair blocking out everything but his face.  She’d never seen him so open.

“So,” Amy said, and Dan, with his eyes still closed, tried to put a hand over her mouth (and missed).

“I… I’m going to need a minute.”

“How nice for you,” Amy said, not planning on giving him an inch.

“Just…stop talking,” Dan said, looking pained.

“Not on your life.  Do you know, I got some news tonight?  Sophie’s engaged.”

“Don’t talk about her right after – why are you even –”

“And do you know what’s interesting,” Amy said, enjoying herself too much to stop.  “Pearce told me _you_ were the one who set them up.”  She paused, to let him speak, but he had nothing.  “Which is strange to me, cause I wasn’t even speaking to you at the time, and…try as I might, I can’t see a way it benefits you.  Except…” and she’s shark-smiling at him now, she can feel it, she _has_ him.  “If it was all part of your cunning plan to get me here, in which case, congratulations, you finally learned to think strategically.”

He finally opened his eyes.  “It’s sick how much you’re enjoying this.”

“Isn’t it though,” Amy said, gleeful.  Dan shook his head and rolled them both, so she was on the bed facing him.

“You already know this,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ear.  “I…I missed seeing you, and it made political sense.”

“And you took over my sister’s dating life because –”

“Because every time you looked at me, it was all you could think about it.  Which, I got kind of sick of – I could see it in your face.”

“What did you think would happen?  Especially since… you didn’t even tell me.  Which is the weird part.  Hard for you to take advantage if I don't know.”

“Well it didn’t take a genius to work out why you’d gone awol.  You barely even texted me, and you were on Politico every day with that fuck from Nevada.”

“That’s not true,” she said – though it was funny he’d thought so.

“So, I set them up.”

“And you selected maybe the only member of Congress who’s actually harmless –”

“Well yeah,” Dan said, like it was obvious.  “I don’t give a fuck who Sophie marries, but you do.  And I needed you…around.”

“Ah,” she said suddenly.  “Their moving back to North Dakota was your idea.”  Which made sense – it was more nous than she’d expected from Pearce.

“I figured we could at least work together again, and I wouldn’t be a political laughing stock… but then Sophie said you –”

She cut him off, not ready for that word to be spoken.  “And you got other ideas.  Of course.  Even when you do a good thing it’s because you’re an ass.”

“Like I said, you’re not complaining.”

“Oh, Dan,” Amy said, “You really _don’t_ get it.  I know exactly what kind of person you are.”  And she took a deep breath, because this next part was hard.  “I just…I like you _anyway_.”

He was still watching her, eyes cool and calculating, like a cat’s.  “I meant what I said you know.  You’re my _favourite_ person.  And I despise people.” 

She smiled at him – everything that had felt loose and unstable inside her now steady – and he added, shifting onto his back, “Now can we sleep?”

“You’re letting me stay?” she said, teasing him really.  But he pulled her against him, tucking her under one arm.

“Amy, the real question is if I’ll ever let you leave.”


	6. Epilogue

One month later  
  
They’d woken early, and Dan had rolled her on to her back with a suggestion for how they could best use the time. She waited until he had thrust, hard and deep, into her, and said in an innocent (and unfortunately rather breathless) tone, “So, you don’t mind about my other boyfriends, right?”

Dan looked at her with complete incredulity.  “You’re asking me this now – when I’m _inside_ you?”  Amy nodded.  “Manipulative.”

She smiled.  “I know.  It’s hot, isn’t it?”

“I’ve created a monster.”

She started to laugh then – she couldn’t help it – and Dan gritted his teeth above her.  “Stop that.”

“I can’t – your _face_!”

“Amy, I’m serious, you have to –”

She actually had stopped then, caught short by his tense expression.  “Can you feel that?”

“You’re shaking the whole damn bed, so yes, I can feel it.”

“I didn’t know.”  He looked at her quizzically, and she added.  “No else ever made me laugh so much in –”

“I’ll try not to take offence to that.”

“And,” Amy bit her lip, “I would have been too shy to ask anyway.”

“Right, well,” and she could hear the strain in his voice, “To be clear,” and he thrust forward, as if to emphasise the point, “No, you are _not_ having _other boyfriends_.”

“Okay,” she gasped, struggling to get out her next words, “But you know… I could only agree to be –”

“ _Stop_ talking, or if you have to, talk dirty.”

“Agree to be exclusive, if it were mutual.”  She was quite proud of herself for getting to the end of that sentence, given everything, but obviously her words pulled Dan up short, because he stopped.

Amy whined a little, trying to move forward, to get at least _some_ friction, but he was too heavy, and she had to wait for him.  “Did I break you?”

“No,” Dan said, adjusting their position, so that her hips were more sharply angled against his.  “I accept your terms.”

And then he started to move – forceful and relentless – and Amy couldn’t have formed a coherent sentence if she’d wanted to, let alone argue.

It was only afterwards, when she found the bruise on her shoulder (Dan had bitten her – though he swore he’d only meant to _nibble_ ) that she called him a possessive Neanderthal.

“Well,” Dan said, “We’ll have to see Jonah at this thing.”

“And you’re worried he’ll steal me away?”

“Please,” Dan scoffed.  “As if anyone could take you who you didn’t want to.  I just think knowing you’re mine will add a touch of agony to his day, and who am I to stand between him and his fate?”

“I’m yours now?" she said in her driest tone, ready to give him all kinds of feminist hell.

“Yeah, every inch,” he said, knowing he’d annoyed her.  “Though I won’t lie Amy, I like some inches better than others.”

She’d rolled her eyes at him and continued dressing – refusing to be distracted when they had a timetable.

The dedication of Selina’s Presidential Library was going to be a difficult affair – especially as they were going to tell her that the Governor of Indiana would be _their_ candidate in the primaries.  (Dan having finally given in to her repeated pestering, and eventually mustering up some enthusiasm himself).

Amy wasn’t sure which was louder – Selina’s “What the ever-loving _fuck_?” when they walked in holding hands…

(She’d been worried about this moment – because Selina had a pretty clear idea of who Dan was, and what he was like, and she might well be disappointed in Amy – but after the first shock, Selina had only said, “Well, I suppose some things are inevitable.  At least you kept it out of the White House – funny, cause I always thought _that’s_ what I’d end up firing Dan for.”

She’d sighed then, sad to remember she was no longer President, and pulled Dan forward by his skinny tie.  “Now you listen, Dan, listen to me.  Don’t you _fuck_ her.”

“Afraid I can’t promise that, Ma’am,” Dan said, trying to be funny, and Amy rolled her eyes – did he _want_ to be slapped?

“You know exactly what I’m talking about Danny Boy, so don’t fuck it up,” Selina said, glaring at him.  Amy was almost touched – this was the most protective she’d seen Selina be…well, ever.  “Though I'm glad you finally got your shit together, that’s something.  I thought it was going to take another ten, fifteen years at best.”

And then she left them alone, bitching to Gary about Catherine’s hair (or shoes) (who cares). 

“You’re a shit,” Amy said.  But you can’t fall in love with Dan Egan and then be surprised when he acts…well, like himself.  So she pulled on his tie too, but pulled him down to kiss him.  “But you’re _mine_.”)

Or her, “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” when they handed her a ‘Knope for America’ badge, Amy saying, as seriously as possible, “You’re one of her personal heroes, ma’am.”

Dan winked at her from behind Selina’s back, but Amy didn’t smile back at him.  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.  (But she wanted to).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first fanfic in years and years...but I binged Veep, Dan and Amy basically took over my brain, and this is the result. I've tried to keep it as 'in-character' as possible (though that makes Dan a really, really tough sell as a romantic hero). I firmly believe that these two morons are meant for each other... but it's 50/50 whether a show as cynical as Veep would actually make it happen.


End file.
